


It's a Shame

by Mireille



Category: Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-08
Updated: 2002-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: It's a game, one of the stupid things that everyone with Internet access does eventually, and so one night he goes to Google and types in "Chris Rankin is" and sits back to see what comes up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On November 8, 2002, the day this was written, when you Googled the phrase "Chris Rankin is," the #1 result was a link to a fic site at http://exitseraphim.org/impervius/hpslash.html, and the first part of the text description was, "... Sean Biggerstaff is straight. Chris Rankin is not. It's a shame." And I thought that needed to be fic.

It's a game, one of the stupid things that everyone with Internet access does eventually, and so one night he goes to Google and types in "Chris Rankin is" and sits back to see what comes up. He's pretty sure that if it's him at all, it'll be about the movie, and when he scrolls down to the bottom of the page, figuring the more interesting and/or weird stuff will be farther down the list, he discovers that he's right. There's a quote about the movie, quite a few sites that say "Chris Rankin is Percy Weasley," a couple of random things that aren't about him at all. Some make so little sense that he's half-afraid to click the link, and he raises an eyebrow at the site that proclaims, "Chris Rankin is ugly." 

But finally, he makes it to the top of the page, and that's where he stops dead. He reads the quote from the site again, and then a third time, and he's still trying to make sense of it when the phone rings. 

"Hello? Oh. Hi," he says, his tone changing instantly--lower, softer, warmer--when he hears the voice on the other end of the line. 

Without realizing it, he's smiling, even though he's listening to a highly indignant rant about some Web chat. He waits until there's a pause for breath before he says, "No, I don't know why they always ask the same bloody thing. No, of course you're not." 

Another annoyed outburst, and he adds, "It's completely ridiculous, you're right." Finally, the tirade winds down, and his smile widens. "Yeah, we're still on for Friday, of course. Yes, I remember, it's your turn to pick what video we see." A chuckle. "There's nothing wrong with my taste. Oh, right, I call you 'cultured' once--and I was joking--and I'm never going to hear the end of it, am I?"

He's still smiling as the conversation drifts to more random topics, and when, a few minutes later, he ends the conversation with, "Yeah, goodnight, prat," it's turned into a grin, the one he usually doesn't allow himself. The one he can't let anyone see, especially not the one person it's reserved for. 

He sits back down at the computer, where the search page is still open, and he reads it again.

Then, suddenly, he reaches out and turns the computer off--never mind shutting it down, he just needs to get rid of the text on the screen, needs to push it away and not think about it any more. Ever. 

Except that the words had already etched themselves in his brain, had been there long before he'd typed his name into the search field tonight, and he doesn't think they're likely to go away in the near future.

And as unnerving as he finds it to have seen his darkest secret, the one no one could ever be allowed to find out, spelled out so clearly by someone whose name he doesn't even know, he has to agree with whoever it is who wrote that: it really is a shame.


End file.
